One of the best things about writing this column is feedback, even from strangers who approach and ask if I’m Kathleen Marsh. Well, with the way things are right now, I find myself hesitant to answer. Then I throw caution to the wind. So far, it’s all been good. I’ve met interesting people who tell me I enrich their lives. That works both ways.
These folks usually comment on a topic I’ve written about and share a similar experience. I always leave these encounters feeling fulfilled, especially when someone says I made them laugh, cry, think or remember. I’m fully aware that the capability of using words to evoke strong emotions is one of the most powerful weapons human beings possess.
An older gentleman, Matt: “We always celebrated St. Nick’s Day with candies and oranges, like your family. That article brought back warm recollections of my childhood.”
A lovely lady, Alice: “My mother knitted our St. Nick stockings using wool sheared from our own sheep. She stored them in her hope chest, protected by mothballs. Most people hate that smell, but for me it brings back wonderful memories.”
When the feedback is from people I know, that can be worrisome too, especially if they’re good writers.
One reassuring response came from Evelyn Gaede, a retired teacher and published author. “One year I had 15 middle schoolers in a special education classroom in Waukegan, Illinois. Many found excuses to hang out in my classroom before school or during lunch. It didn’t take long for my aide Mrs. Nieves and me to figure out they felt safer there. Some were starved for attention, needed a sympathetic ear or basked in the positive feedback. Mrs. Nieves opened my eyes to what their home lives were like and helped me by helping them understand why I had to keep strict order.
“When the size of the lunch group became overwhelming, we made a schedule. We’d go through the lunch line with whoever was on the list that day and carry their trays to our room. It was also an incentive. If students were well-behaved and did their work, their names went into a jar. We drew two names each Friday; winners were invited to lunch with us the following week. We couldn’t believe how those kids really wanted to spend that time with us.
“At Christmas, we decided to buy a coat for a student still coming to school in a light windbreaker. I found a super warm snowmobile jacket on clearance. Wait. We couldn’t give a present to one and not the others. My husband, David, pitched in so we could buy each one something they really needed. Lots of happy tears that last day before vacation. Thanks for bringing back a precious memory.”
Also weighing in was Carrie Sherrill, a former student and excellent writer. “I loved your St. Nick and Christmas columns! It’s so great the way you weave historical facts into the story so that we all learn something new, and I can certainly identify with ‘Mike.’ We were one of those poor Kaukauna families from ‘the wrong side of the tracks.’
My mom was so proud, and even though Dad was disabled and died when I was 15, she worked hard to avoid being thought of as a ‘charity case,’ but we had neighbors who would sneak things onto our porch or into our mailbox. My high school guidance counselor (Betty Nigl) was one. Had it not been for Betty, I likely wouldn’t have gone to college. She found scholarships and grants for me, reassuring my mother I’d be fine so far from home (Green Bay).”
Carrie chose a nursing career, though she would have made a great English teacher. When it comes to eliciting emotions, this girl’s got game. Here’s an example of her using her gift for writing poetry to describe a heartfelt experience.
At the Nursing Home
In the far corner, Phillip leans
over the tray of his geri chair, unable
to speak since the stroke two years ago.
He takes it all in. His eyes bright
his paralyzed arm hugs the stuffed
puppy that is his constant companion
now that Marie has passed.
He leans closer, cocks his head
raises his eyebrows, intent on the music.
The fingers on his good hand tap in time
to the happy songs: Frosty the Snowman
We Wish You a Merry Christmas
And then I see it.
This miracle of Christmas
he forms the words
words of the old country
so long stored in his memory’s vault
Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht
no voice, but he mouths the entire song
as a single tear falls
down his whiskered cheek.
— Carrie Sherrill
Wow. Talk about powerful words. Here’s hoping you make beautiful memories in 2024.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
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